Color
by JansenFriedh827
Summary: Italy has a gift. He can see all the colors that connect people, represented by strings tied between them. He can see everyone's if he concentrates hard enough. Why is Germany any different? GerIta, hints of other relationships.


This was supposed to be a short, 500 words or less drabble. Yeah, right. XD Please enjoy this story I made! Took me about an hour or two.

I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters.

Thanks in advance for reading. Leave a review if you like; otherwise, I have no idea how you all think. Enjoy!

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Italy has a gift.

At first, he never thought anything of it. All the nations should have the ability, right?

It wasn't until Italy was with France on a walk one afternoon that he realized he was different. He was watching a couple walk side-by-side under one shared umbrella, happily smiling at each other, the lingering hints of blushes on their cheeks showing that it was still a young love. Italy smiled at the couple.

"Isn't it a beautiful bond?" He had said. France smiled, though with less innocence.

"Indeed. She's quite the beauty, and he looks very happy." He said.

"Such a pretty color." France paused for a moment before turning to the younger boy.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Italy didn't face him, still smiling as the couple turned a corner and disappeared.

"The color of their bond! What a pretty pink." He exclaimed.

"Pink…? What are you talking about?" This time Italy gave France a confused look.

"What do you mean? I just said it! Their bond! Couldn't you see the string?"

"They had a string?"

Italy didn't respond. He looked back to the corner they disappeared at, a confused look on his face. He dropped his gaze a bit.

"Nevermind. I was just imagining something." He didn't miss the worried look France through at his back. "I've got to go now to have some pasta. Bye, big brother France!" So Italy skipped off, leaving France at the sidewalk, still a bit puzzled.

That was when Italy realized he was the only one that could see the strings that connected people. The strings would loop around each person's finger, connecting them. The bond never broke, no matter how far apart they were. To see each individual bond, Italy had to focus on the couple, but eventually, he wouldn't be able to miss the bright color of the string. Sometimes if he focused enough, he could see a string reaching from someone all the way into the distance, sometimes across an ocean to the point where he couldn't see it anymore. Sometimes, the strings reached up into the sky.

The strings had the same basic colors to represent the bonds, Italy realized after a while. Green represented strong friendship. Blue represented loyalty, whether from subject to leader or just two friends. Yellow represented family love. Pink represented crushes or young love. Orange represented unrequited love. White represented acquaintance. Indigo represented fear of someone. Black represented hate. Red represented strong love.

This didn't mean the colors were limited to that. Sometimes they were faded, weak colors; other times, they were strong and vibrant, even through death. Many relationships had one base color and flecks of other colors. Every color varied slightly in shade, brilliance, and tone.

Italy squinted his eyes at a man walking with a woman, the woman joking about something to him. A lime green string connected their hands, wiggling slightly when the woman waved her arms in some exaggerated gesture. As Italy watched, he only thought it was a strong friendship. As he looked closer, he saw flecks of orange dotting the woman's side of the string. Italy suddenly felt sad.

Italy tended to watch the strings and giggle at the countries' actions towards each other during world meetings. He would always laugh when England and America stood up to argue at each other, and Italy would watch as the burgundy red string bobbed between them, laced with green, pink, and sometimes even a dark indigo color. He sat wondering at that color. What could they fear in each other that would make such a color like that? No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't arrive at an answer.

The others had strings connecting them, too. In addition, Italy could see his own connections. A blue and green string connected himself and Japan. A yellow string connected Japan and China; China's was flecked with orange. Spain and Romano had a bright red string, almost no other colors tainting it. He could go on and describe every other connection that tied everyone together, but the list would go on.

Nearly every relationship he could see clearly if he squinted and focused enough. Sometimes it hurt his head if he looked too long. This was the case whenever he tried to focus on himself and Germany.

No matter what he tried, he couldn't see the string that connected them two. The first time Italy realized this, he cried. No string between people represented an absence of feelings towards each other: whether it be love, friendship, or even hate. He made himself feel better by telling himself,

"At least he doesn't hate me." This consolation didn't last long. One night, after yet another dream of himself and Germany having a bright string that ended up being cut off, Italy woke up wailing and crying. He heard pounding leading from the hallway into his room. He kept hoping it wasn't Germany. He didn't want to see his dream come true. He didn't want to see the man.

As though just to spite him, Germany was the one that slammed his door open. "Italy!" He shouted. "Are you alright? Are you under attack?" He had his gun in tow. When he saw Italy crying alone in the bed, looking at Germany as though the man might yell at him, he sighed and lowered his weapon. "Did you have another bad dream?" He asked.

"… Yes…" Italy whimpered. He lowered his gaze to the bed, pulling the blanket up to his nose. He heard the clink of Germany's gun, probably having been set on the dresser. Suddenly, the springs under the mattress groaned as Germany came into the bed next to Italy, lying on his side to face him. The younger nation didn't meet his gaze. Instead, he kept it on the window. He could see the moon through the curtains.

"Are you ever going to tell me what these dreams are about?" There was a brief silence before Italy shook his head, and Germany sighed silently. He reached one hand forward and gently began playing with Italy's auburn hair, making a point to avoid the one curl. This had become routine. Italy would wake up from a nightmare, Germany would stomp in, realize the problem, and play with his hair until he fell asleep. In the morning, he'd be awake and gone from Italy's side.

"Do you see them?" Italy asked suddenly. Germany paused, shocked at the sudden question.

"What?"

"Do you see them?" He repeated.

"Do I see what, Italy?" Germany was getting a bit irritated.

"The strings."

"The… what?"

"The different colored strings that connect everyone. Everyone has them. I can see them. Red, blue, green, yellow… All different colors. If I focus, I can see all the colors between everyone," Germany had no idea what Italy was saying, so he just went along with it.

"Is that true? What are some colors?"

"Sweden and Finland. They have a red and pink color. Japan and Greece have a pink color. America and England have a red, pink, and green colored string… They're all different." This began to pique Germany's interest.

"Is that so? What about… France? What strings connect him?"

"Well, he has one connecting him to Canada I don't think he knows about. A pink one." Italy explained. Germany was surprised by his serious answer, expecting a joke about France.

"Really? And what about me?" Germany received no answer. "Italy?"

"I can't see your strings." He replied sharply.

"You… why not?"

"I don't know!" Italy exclaimed, exasperated. He turned away from Germany.

"Italy-" Germany turned Italy back by his shoulder. Italy was gently pulled back to face Germany completely, the man with his hair down in his black tank top, looking at Italy with a worried look. As Italy looked at Germany's face and his position, Italy realized that maybe Germany did care. Why else would a muscular, strict country like Germany come into bed with him to comfort him? He must trust Italy to be in such a compromising position without any type of defense. Even if it was a basic truth, it was something to Italy. When he looked at Germany's face, he saw the worry in it, and other feelings he couldn't read. As he stared at Germany, feeling the man get a bit uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, Italy smiled.

As he did so, he suddenly saw a glint of something out of the corner of his eye. When he looked, he saw a string connected to Germany's finger. Italy nearly cried out in triumph- and by instinct, he shot out his hand and grabbed at the string. Shocked, Germany ripped his hand away, not knowing that was Italy's target. He got onto his back, his hand flat at his side against the bed. Italy was tented over him. In one hand he held the string that connected to them, unaware of the bright red blush over Germany's cheeks.

"I-Italy! What in the world are you doing?" He stuttered in embarrassment, even though the bigger man could have thrown the nation off if he wanted to.

Italy, however, was completely distracted. The string he held in his hands was different than all other strings he had seen- or maybe it was because this is the closest he had looked at one string. Either way, the string he held was a bright, rich, vibrant scarlet color. Even in the blackness of the room he could see it clearly. It was spotted with deep green strings, many blue strings, a touch of indigo, and to Italy's relief, not a hint of orange, unrequited love, or black, hate. It wasn't until he sat for a moment staring at the string did he realize that it was bright red; he knew what that represented_. _He looked up at the shocked, confused, and nervous country below him. All at once he got a flood of emotion he knew was already there. He shouldn't have needed a string to see it. He collapsed onto the man's chest, wrapping his arms around the man's neck, crying all sorts of things Germany didn't understand.

The man didn't know what to say. He only opened his mouth and closed it again. Italy pulled back from the confused and flustered man, seeing his completely flushed face. He wanted to say something- anything- but nothing was coming out. Instead, Italy caught sight of the red string between them and leaned forward to place his lips on Germany's.

The man's heart stopped. Italy was _kissing _him. He had no idea what to do; he was in shock. After a moment of Italy kissing his unmoving lips, the smaller man pulled away. Suddenly Germany felt the loss of warmth and the feeling of Italy leaving him, and he reached up and reconnected his lips to Italy's, wrapping his arms around Italy's waist and turning them around so Italy was then leaning up to Germany. As soon as they parted, Germany muttered,

"I love you, Italy," between pants of breath. He kissed the top of Italy's head. Italy looked up to meet Germany's eyes and smiled, pulling Germany closer and burying his head into the man's neck.

"I love you." He could feel Germany's face turn redder and his heartbeat quickened. He smiled at the fact that he could make the man feel this way with just those words. He leaned up and kissed the man again before he turned on his side, letting Germany come behind him and pull him close, one arm lying on Italy's waist. Italy smiled at the warmth.

When he woke, Germany was still there, and he could still see the thread.


End file.
